


Capitulation

by Strangecat_Ramsey



Category: Sherlock (TV), Torchwood
Genre: Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 13:38:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strangecat_Ramsey/pseuds/Strangecat_Ramsey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft Holmes and Jack Harkness have a difference of opinions. It leads to some interesting cell sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Capitulation

**Author's Note:**

> Originally a fill for Sherlock Kink Meme. forgot about it until just now. 
> 
> So this is unbeta'd/. you have been warned!

**Capitulation**

The man in the cell looks furious. His eyes that had seemed so abnormally calm and assured back inyour office are the colour of night, his playful over expressive eyebrow’s that had been playing over his forehead during the negotiations, are now furrowed. Not in confusion but pure unadulterated anger; The only reason that the cell is still in one peace is that the man’s control over himself seems to be an infinite amount stronger . Its driving the Weevils across in the other cells absolutely batty. You contemplate perhaps having him forced into handcuffs for your visit but frankly it’s too big of a risk. You’ve known Mycroft Holmes for years. Even before he had a position in Government. You’ve known his ancestors. You met the very first Mycroft Holmes. You knew his father intimately. He’s self-assured. He’s everything his father hoped he would be and far more. He knows what he wants and even in loosing he will always find something of advantage to him and he can’t help it. Because ultimately he is a Holmes. Walking through the jail area the Weevils that normally quiet at your entrance go even more crazy. You’re glad that the glass is unbreakable or the weevil that just knocked itself out by trying to headbutt it would have let the other Weevils loose.The screen outside the door show’s that the man is still sitting in the cell, his gaze unwaveringly focussed on the glass of his cell. Examining his reflection in it no doubt. Perhaps forcing him to strip wasn’t the best of idea’s but underestimating the little gadgets MI6 has decided to grace him with would be a mistake. You found several useful items in his clothing. Even garott wire and a lock pick in the lining of his underwear. Underestimating Mycroft Holmes would be an even greater mistake, but pissing him off is an even worse idea. It’s a good thing you’re Jack Harkness, or this might be a massive miscalculation on your part. You’ve had a century to study the Holmes Family. You might have an advantage this time.MIGHT!Mycroft doesn’t even bother to stand up when you enter the cell. He doesn’t even acknowledge your entrance. His fingers steeples in front of his naked chest giving him a point to focus on. You want to say something but that would be too much of an advantage so you walk into the cell like you own it, and you do.Mycroft finally blinks slowly, finally meeting your eye. The weevil’s outside all going silent and in that itself it’s scary. But that’s alright, you’re equally scary. “You are making a very big mistake Capt. Harkness” Mycroft hates stating the obvious, you both know that. Perhaps he’s making sure that it is as obvious as all that. You incline your head to let him know that you do know that. You knew it the moment you knocked him out about 14 hours into the negotiations, that didn’t seem to be going anywhere that this was a big mistake. “Are you willing to reach a compromise Mr.Holmes?” You ask with your normal disarming grin. As if you hadn’t just kidnapped Britain’s most important (and dangerous) civil servant and robbed him of a fairly impressive tailored suit.Mycroft studies your features as if trying to decide if you are joking or not. The weevils starting to stir in the background again. “It depends on what I get out of the deal if we do reach a compromise Captain?” The anger is still simmering somewhere below, that much is obvious , the smirk on his face makes you want to pound his face in. The feeling that he’s been playing you for the last day just to be difficult seems to magnify and the little bastard seems to be revelling in your frustration and the need to wipe that smirk right off his face. The smirk stops short for a moment as he reads your frustration and something completely different passes over his face for a moment. If you didn’t know any better you’d think it were lust. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d fucked this man or indeed visa versa, but this hardly seems the right setting. You stop thinking because Mycroft can read you as easily as the Doctor can and that in itself is something that you cannot allow. Something has to happen and you aren’t sure what but it’s yourmove. Or so you thought. Mycroft has decided that he’s tired of waiting and stands up in all his long legged beauty flinging himself forward to pin you against the bed, forcing his lips onto yours with all the savageness of the weevils that have gone absolutely insane, you can’t bring yourself to give a fuck, you can feel Mycroft’s heat even through your coat. Something primal lets loose. Not just the need for sex but the need for control. Control over something so powerful and predatory that it makes you feel as if you’ve met a kindred spirit. The need to fight back with equal strength beats in your veins. This is something you don’t often get in this era. It’s something that only a Holmes can possess in an age of regressed sexuality. Mycroft understands what you need and he’s willing to give it, he’s read your very soul .Something you can’tpass up. You’re still fucking angry with him. You hate been toyed with. You hate the fact that he has an edge on you. You push him back using your legs to kick him across the cell, watching him thud against the glass with a resounding thud. It’s satisfying as hell. Even when he’s able to stumble up, a bruise already blooming over his shoulder where he hit it, his own anger fuelled in his eyes over whatever he himself feels frustrated about. You’d love to know what he’s upset about. He comes back with as much speed as he flew at the wall, trying to pin you to the bed, punching you in the face, scratching his perfectly manicured fingers deeply through your chest only to find himself on the cold floor of the cell, wiggling and squirming, you’ve had enough. You’re lip is already swollen and bleeding and he’s as hard as you are. Prolonging this will only end in a trip to the hospital for the both of you. You grip his wrists, noticing with irritation that your coats been ripped at the shoulder. You’ll make the little shit fix it himself when this is done. It’s a good thing that you never leave home without lubricant because this fuckers going to need it. You feel like rodgering the boy until he’s begging to apologies. He doesn’t go still. Fighting against your grasp like a trapped panther, the Weevils strangely quite again, but a quick look over your shoulder reveals blood splattered glass in the cells opposite. Well shit. Something else Mycroft will have to clean up. The remaining Weevils are still making a small amount of noise but who gives a fuck about that. Mycroft’s under you and he damn well deserves your full attention. 

You’ve bruised Mycrofts wrists from the amount of struggling he’s been doing. He’s spat at you and even bitten your lip when you’ve forced a kiss on him. He’s curled his long fingers into fists trying to scratch at the hand that’s holding him down. He’s almost managed it.You reach down and unzip and pull yourself out with a single hand, relishing the way he goes still. 

You both know that nothing in the world would be able to force itself on Mycroft. He wants this as much as you want it. You grip his hair tightly and you can see the way he enjoys the rough touch. You’re not crass enough to call him slut or whore. It can just be left unsaid because to Atlas-men like yourselfs actions are louder than words. The way he’s enjoying your rough sure fingers gripping your hair and practically gobbles down your cock as it presses against his broken lip means you can leave it unsaid.

There is something absolutely gorgeous about the way that he takes your cock into his mouth. The way he sucks on the head of it, his long eyelashes fluttering half closed as if this is his reason for living. His whole body shudders as if his own cock is being sucked. And you’re deliberately neglecting that handsome piece of flesh, knowing that if you paid even a second of attention to it, Mycroft would somehow turn the table.

Mycroft is still fucking pissed off. He’s rough with your cock, but not unpleasantly so. He sucks harder than he needs to. Uses more teeth than he should. And the way he practically gags himself on your cock every time he moves to deep throat you and then deliberately drags himself back denying you that pleasure. It reminds you of an angry musician, playing his instrument with pure passion, pouring his soul into his music because it’s the best way he’s able to get rid of those feelings. It’s the best damn blow-job you’ve ever received. And you’ve been with aliens with a good few more tentacles and mouths than this kid has.

You decide that he’s had enough control over this. Gripping hold of the back of his head and forcing him to deep throat you. He hadn’t been expecting that. It’s almost a sin to take control over something that had been so perfect, but you can’t give him an inch. You shoot yourself deep inside his throat, forcing him to take it, knowing he can. Some of the anger dissipates in his gaze. His plans have been ended before they could come to fruition apparently. He almost looks sad. 

Tugging your cock from out those lips should be caught on camera…perhaps it is. You hope that your sitting at the right angle. He stares at you not really begging but determined. He might not be as angry as he was when you started this, but he is determined to get some pleasure.You grin your best grin at him. Wink and reach between his legs tugging at his cock with a rough hand. Your not angry with him. Not any more but Mycroft isn’t in the mood for kindness. Watching him try and control his pleasure while he gasps away with every twist of your wrist is too perfect and your 51stcentury body quickly recovers. He’s got a front seat and centre view of your cock and is quickly stops trying to get off, obviously very interested in getting it inside him.

You’re a cruel bastard. A real mean, horrible man. And continue to jerk his cock, he somehow knows that if he comes right now you’re going to leave him feeling empty. He can’t have that and starts to pant. A new kind of anger building in him, as he knows you’re playing him. He knows you want him to submit but he can’t do that. Not until you’ve given him exactly what he needs.It’s becoming close to desperation for him by the time you decide to take mercy on him. 

 

Gripping his wrists and hauling him up flinging him at the glass with whatever anger you can still bring yourself to have. Post Orgasm usually leaves you feeling damn good. And you do. This next one is going to be mana from heaven. 

Just as Mycroft turns to try and fight you, you shove him up against the glass. Anyone walking by would get a perfect butterfly specimen view of Pinned by a cock Mycroft Holmes. But neither of you care. His hands are free and he’s trying to get at you. You use a free arm to pin him to the glass before reaching back and slapping his backside with all the strength you possess. He stills, arching into the cold glass, hissing softly. You cant decide whether its from the pain or the cold glass on his cock, but you do it again because it feels damn good. 

His fists drumming against the glass as you leave his backside a nice bright red colour seems to be to a perfect wartime beat. His way of letting you know that even if you win this round, he’s going to get you back. He’s going to tear your heart out and feed it to you. And you can’t wait. Revenge sex is always interesting. 

You finally decide to give him what he wants. He’s expecting a dry fuck from the way he tenses as you grip hold of his hip. You disappoint. He hadn’t heard the cap twist off, while he was trying to gather himself up, or the way you slicked it over your cock with a deft hand. But he definitely feels it when you thrust your hips forward with little or no warning, pinning him to the glass enjoying the way he howls as your cock breaches him. You rock back just alittle when you’re finally seated to balls inside him, gently rocking in and out. Not giving him a moment to really get used to it, constantly moving. 

He’s breathing hard through his long elegant nose, trying to force himself to relax, his ass is so tight you almost regret not taking it abit slower but he’s not complaining, he’s trying to shift back, trying to meet your little movements. He knows what you want. You just have to wait him out, and he knows that you can wait a hell of a lot longer than he can. 

“Please would you be so kind as to move your fucking ass Capt.” He growls. And its as close as he’s ever going to come to begging. You oblidge him. You move back and shove in with all the power you possess. You fuck him like you mean it. And you do. You fuck him like every thrust is meant to hurt and it does. You fuck him like this is the only moment that you’ll ever be truly honest with a single person…either of you. And you both mean it. This is the one moment when every motion either of you make isn’t a lie. 

The glass is warm, its practically molten when Mycroft comes from the slick friction of you shoving your cock right to the very core of him, forcing him to fuck the glass, to smeer it with his essence. 

Something that you hope the camera on the outside of this cell catches. His whole body is slick with sweat and at some point of you fucking him he finally gave in and started moving in unison. The way he submits to your will is sweater than anything you have left in yourself. Anything the world has left in it. Forget baby’s and kittens and puppies and chocolates and honey and syrup and sugar. Forget it all. Because it wont ever equal what has happened between you. 

When you finally find yourself shoving in one last time, loading Mycroft’s arse with cum he’s practically purring, he’s limp and held up by the glass. You wrap an arm around him and hold him up as you pull out, pulling him away from the glass to get a perfect few of his frame on the glass and the white streaks marking it. 

You know you’re playing with fire but you need to see where Mycroft’s mind is and you force him to his knee’s watching him go easily. Still dazed with submission and pleasure, easily licking up the streaks on the glass as you dig your hand into his hair and press his face into the glass. 

Hell how can you be angry with that? You pull him up by the hair, shove him onto the bed, still high on the knowledge that even for this hour you’ve had fought and won control over a Holmes. He knows it and takes it in good grace. Laying down where he’s been told. Enjoying the way you slide your damaged coat off and lie down beside him wrapping it around his naked form and your own body. 

You kiss him again, with non of the previous heat that either of you possessed, enjoying the way he pliantly follows your mouth, you can taste him on his own lips and decide that before either of you leave this cell, you owe him a good blow job. He deserves as much.

He yawns stretching against you as if he’s trying to seduce you, licking your nose as if trying to be cute. You both know he’s just playing you. You both know you’re not buying it. He sighs, too tired to play really, rolling his sore shoulder, trying to get comfortable, finally resting against your chest, his head curled up against your shoulder. “Fine you can have whatever you want.” Capitulation is so sweet. Especially at the hands of a bastard just like him.


End file.
